THE COAL THAT BURNS THE FUTURE

A great deal could be argued about the existence of a deity — a greater power, a force behind what human logic cannot yet fathom. That is not the purpose of this piece. Instead, I want to borrow from the legends, tales, and scriptures that contain such an idea and distil them into a single word: teacher.

Humans are anticipating creatures. Our brains are prediction machines, endlessly scanning for meaning and safety. Given that nature, we could hardly ask for a better manual to life than the scriptures and their kin. They teach. They warn. They imagine a world where justice outlasts any single generation.

The heaviest blow to a society is not to its economy, its political establishment, or even its social fabric. No — it is to its children. For children are the future. Without them, a thriving economy or a strong political establishment would mean nothing. It is in this ancient wisdom that every matter involving children has been handled delicately. We see it in the special treatment of expectant mothers. In men marching to war for the sake of their children and the mothers of those children. Civilizations across millennia understood this — until the so-called “most civilized” generation arrived.

Not long ago, I visited a children’s home in what was meant to be a posh neighbourhood. The home itself was far from posh — but then again, home is where love is. Perhaps the children there would not have fared better anyway, given the cards their society dealt them. What struck me most was a young chap, seven years old at best, named Ng’ang’a. When I asked him what he wanted to do in the future, he looked me dead in the eye, a smile curving from cheek to cheek, and said: “A preacher.” He wanted to preach to the whole world.

Days later, I found myself at a juvenile correction centre. It should be noted: the facility itself was what most needed correction. Among all the children there, one crime was universal. They were guilty of being vulnerable. And it was clear that society had let no vulnerability slip — these children were paying their dues in full. Inside that facility, I watched children share in their own extinction. Stripped of freedom. Robbed of the chance to carve their own futures. At least they were aware of that reality. Meanwhile, the ones bagging student loans and soon to inherit the government’s debt burden — they think they are starring in a different movie altogether.

Here is my submission: Ng’ang’a intends to preach to society one day. And that society desperately needs the preaching. Because it has left these “beholders” of the future to be the coal that burns to propel the ship called society. I am starting to believe that today’s greatness is being built at the expense of tomorrow’s children.

Just look at the billions poured into artificial intelligence companies — technologies that have turned children into citizens of a dopamine nation, all in the race for favorable quarterly returns. The child’s attention has become fuel. Their future, collateral.

The world is not fast enough to outrun the doom it is inviting. Sooner or later, Caesar will get his dues. But by then, it will not be emperors who pay. It will be the Ng’ang’as of this world — the ones who once dreamed of preaching, now left with no congregation but their own ruins.